Blood and Water
by NexusNebulous
Summary: ElijahxOC She hadn't birthed him, but she loved him like her own child. And if protecting Marcel meant becoming a Vampire, she wouldn't hesitate. Becoming part of the family though, that would be harder. AU af
1. Prologue: Still Standing

**_ok Babes this is my new fic._** ** _if you got this notification and thought_** ** _"hey author lady we thought you were dead, where's The Stark Effect"_** ** _Um...yeah...I'm gonna write an author's note in there so yall know whats up. Its not being abandoned I just had a lot of shit going on._** ** _anyways here's the thing. I also cross-posted this on Ao3._**

 ** _Prologue: Still Standing_**

Elijah knelt before the grave with a grief in his heart that felt startlingly fresh. Nevermind that the headstone was almost a century old today. Ivy had been given the chance to grow over the sides and front, obscuring the name, and Elijah couldn't bring himself to touch it, but could see the inscription in his mind's eye, just as vivid as it had been a hundred years ago.

Meena Mikaelson

Mother, Sister, and Wife

"I thought I'd find you here," a smooth voice said, interrupting his reminiscing.

Elijah paused, steeling himself, before turning his head.

Marcel hadn't changed, as was the nature of vampires. He wore a long sleeved shirt and jeans, and the look in his eyes conveyed so many fluctuating feelings that Elijah felt both apprehensive and eager.

He stood, brushing imaginary dirt off his suit jacket.

"You're looking well, Marcellus," he said stiffly, aborting the impulse to move towards the younger man at the last second.

Marcel didn't answer for a moment, but he did make the first move, clapping a hand on Elijah's shoulder and smiling.

"I missed you too Pops."

"Why did you decide to come back? " Marcel asked, pouring two glasses of whiskey and passing one to Elijah.

"Maybe I simply wanted to see the state of things," Elijah said absently, staring off into space.

Marcel chuckled.

"If I didn't already know that Klaus was in town, that look would've clinched it. I always understood why you don't come back here. I felt like running away from the Quarter and never coming back more than once. But I stayed. I made this place mine."

"I'm quite proud of you for it," Elijah said honestly.

Marcel nodded.

"I appreciate it. But I'm not eight anymore Eli. As much as it pains me, when you guys left, the Quarter got a lot quieter. The werewolves are gone, the witches under control. The last thing I need is Klaus causing mayhem."

Elijah's laughter was dry.

"I have to wonder what your mother would say. She was quite fond of those witches."

Marcel grinned, sincere but morbid.

"She's welcome to come and let me have it any time. It's not like your day. The witches are weak, the wolves disorganized. Somebody was going to pick up the slack."

Elijah smirked, tipping back the last of his alcohol.

"You're a Mikaelson; I won't begrudge you for being the leader you were raised to be."

"You won't. But they call you the honorable one for a reason. Klaus? Well, you know your brother."

"I seem to recall he was your favorite Uncle once."

Marcel grinned.

"He still is. But then, competition isn't exactly steep in our clan. I believe in always and forever just like everyone else, but I refuse roll over while Klaus kills his way through his latest tantrum."

Elijah sighed.

"What would you ask of me?"

"Do you know why Klaus came? What he wants?"

Elijah's forehead wrinkled.

"He seems to think the witches here are conspiring against him. I can't imagine what for," he said, though both he and Marcel knew that was a lie. They couldn't be certain of specifics, but NIklaus made enemies everywhere he went. Whether they wanted revenge for some wrong or simply despised the Original family, Klaus would cut down anyone he perceived at fault.

"I'll get some ears to the ground then, but I might have an idea."

Elijah faced his son properly, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Klaus is temperamental, brash, and often cruel, but there is nothing those witches could bargain that could convince him to harm you."

Marcel took a drink.

"Not permanently anyways," he retorted.

"Yes well, I will do what I can to deal with him."

The very next night Elijah stood on the balcony directly outside his old bedroom in compound, breaking the lock on the glass door with only enough strength to accomplish his task. He wasn't surprised to see that the room had been redecorated, the evidence of his life here wiped away with a modern touch, but even then it was clear no one stayed here, not even Marcel, who could've claimed the Master bedroom without incident.

He moved silently around the compound, taking in the choices of furniture and artwork that were Marcel's way of placing his ownership, though the style was eerily reminiscent of a time long gone. He didn't miss the rows of flowers, notably the carnations that grew in pots and planters placed in many available surfaces.

"Pops," Marcel called, interrupting Elijah's musing.

The older man's eyebrow quirked upward in token annoyance at the term.

"Marcellus, it's come to my attention that your miraculous subjugation of the witches has led you to execute a woman by the name Jane-Anne Devereaux," he said, trailing off, his expression likely unimpressed.

"Don't give me that look, Eli," he said with a sneer.

"These witches, they're desperate, power-hungry. They'll do anything to take more power, they think they deserve it. People like Jane-Anne, they're not evil, but I will not allow my people to be hurt."

He said with conviction, adding,

"You taught me that."

Elijah sighed heavily.

"Help me to understand, Marcellus. These people, they cower from you. I hold no love for the werewolves, but likewise I hold no hatred for witches. What could bring you to hate them so much?"

Marcel looked him directly in the eyes.

The resolve there was something Elijah had only rarely seen directed at himself.

"You really wanna know? Take a look," he said, offering his hand.

Elijah took it without hesitation, and was immediately bombarded with images of a ritual, a teenage girl and a coven of witches brought low by fate, but perhaps destroyed by vengeance.

Gasping, Elijah grasped his son's arm with more strength, looking at him in surprise.

"Show me."


	2. Chapter 1: The Sun Shines

**_heres the first full chapter. my plan is to switch somewhat between past and current events but I'm not sure which part to post next. My idea for the next section in modern day isn't coming easily but the next past chapter is already written and tbh its because Marcel is 6 when they adopt him in this au and little kids are my weakness. I age him up pretty quickly though, I just needed his cute face to buffer some of the drama_** ** _/_** ** _Chapter 1: The Sun Shines_**

Elijah watched over the sleeping child, not knowing how to feel.

Watching the boy sleep brought so many memories to the forefront of his mind, of when he was young. Of when every night he'd lay awake worried about every day. Living, no, surviving, is a harrowing task, perhaps more so 700 years ago, or even a hundred years ago, but he thought that Marcellus might know something of that fear.

Elijah hated slavery in a fundamental sense. The concept of owning another person, treating them as less than a human being, it wasn't exactly foreign to him. The strong had been subjugating the weak since the dawn of time, even longer than he'd been alive, but that didn't mean he had to like it. That moral part of him he refused to do away with, it burned at the idea, but he had assumed there was little he could do.

Now he wondered.

It was a blessing, in a way, that Klaus was as impetuous as always, because he lacked Elijah's own reticence to act. His younger brother had had no hesitation in taking the boy for himself and killing the unlucky bastard who'd been tasked with beating him.

All that was left to do was appease Marcellus' now former master.

Elijah did it eagerly, threatening the Governor into shaking silence and throwing money at him as an afterthought, to ensure his promise kept.

Now he stood here in the doorframe of the room assigned to the child, observing his fitful sleep and contemplating how he might ensure that another was never treated this way. The cuts from the whip were tightly bandaged, but though the smell of blood was heavy in the air the sour scent of infection was absent. Still, his breathing was labored.

He could practically see the identical image of Niklaus as a child, beaten half-dead by their father and in similar pain. The memory was no doubt the reason why Klaus had acted so decisively, and also why the younger Mikaelson brother had left the child to the mercies of Elijah and a healing witch, likely unable to bear the sight of such familiar injury.

"..Mm-"

Elijah snapped to attention at the half-moaned sound, hoping Marcellus wouldn't wake.

"Me-Meena," the boy sobbed, this time clearly, though he seemed to still be asleep.

Elijah crept closer to the bed, pressing his palm into Marcellus' forehead.

He had a fever, but it didn't seem life threatening.

At his touch, the young boy stiffened, then relaxed, leaning into his hand and looking more at peace than he had before.

Elijah's face twisted in sorrow, but couldn't bring himself to draw his hand away, even when the sun began creeping over the horizon

Two days later the child had seemingly healed for the most part, and sat in one of the parlors with Klaus. The original Hybrid was teaching Marcellus to play chess with more patience than most would assume he possessed.

It warmed the hearts of every member of their small family to see the boy smiling, even if it was rare and subdued. His eyes would light up with every new trinket, or every freedom they showed him, but the child was quite surprising in his way. He couldn't read exactly, but he knew his letters, told them with pride that he knew that Marcellus meant "little warrior". Klaus had excused it as being the Governor's albeit bastard, son, but Elijah remained curious.

"Klaus would you allow me to speak to young Marcellus privately?"

Klaus gave him a look of some suspicion, but nodded and left the room at a human walk.

Elijah sat at the newly vacated seat, smiling gently to see Marcellus watching him carefully, but not distrustfully.

"Marcellus, I'm happy to see that you're adjusting well to being in this household. How are you feeling?"

"...I'm ok. My back doesn't hurt as much,"

Elijah nodded.

"I'm glad the medicine is working, that was a terrible injury, but perhaps I should rephrase. Do you feel Happy Marcellus? Do you feel safe with us?"

The young boy's eyes went wide as he took in those words.

He nodded quickly, clearly worried about offending the vampire, but Elijah's hands rose to clasp his shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Do not misunderstand me, I, as well as everyone else here is incredibly happy to have you. As long as you wish to, you will have a home with us," he said soothingly.

The boy's shoulders relaxed, and this time he looked at Elijah with an expression nearing curiosity.

Perhaps he should explain.

"Marcellus, I don't mean to pry, we do value your privacy, but you understand that we are not human?"

He nodded.

"Then you'll understand that we hear quite well. Through walls even."

His eyes seemed understanding.

"Who is Meena, little one?"

"Woah woah, where are you going?" Klaus asked as Elijah passed him in the foyer.

"When you found him Marcellus told you he didn't have a mother,"

"Yes, and?"

"I'm not sure that's precisely true," he said, before continuing out the door.

The Governor's mansion was immaculate as always, but Elijah didn't bother entering. Instead he marched towards the fields, until he could grab the first overseer he saw.

"Hey who the hell-?!" He tried to shout, before Elijah had him pinned to the wall of a barn, the pathetic man's eyes bulging in surprise.

"I need your assistance finding a slave girl called Meena. Where might I find her?" He asked, not bothering to take care with his grip.

The bones in the man's arm creaked painfully, and he whined loud enough to turn the heads of those working the fields.

"God! She's in Sally's hut, the farthest one down on the second row! Please just let me go!" He cried. With a disgusted look Elijah compelled the man to forget his presence and dropped him to fall in a sobbing heap, his arm certainly broken.

He followed the instructions towards the last house, disturbed to find the scent of old blood directing him the same way. He knocked on the door to the tiny shack, and an older woman answered, looking haggard and solemn.

"Yes sir?" she asked, her expression not rude, but not fearful either.

"I was told I could find a girl named Meena here? I'm looking for her on behalf of Marcellus," he explained, hoping the woman would understand.

If anything her face became more grave, and she opened the door wider, and gestured for him to enter.

Elijah didn't allow his expression to give way but couldn't help but feel horrified as the scent of blood, infected blood filled his senses

The hut was little more than a room with a mattress, a lantern sitting off to one side, unlit. In the bed lay a young woman, covered in blood and obviously dying.

 _"Meena takes care of me," Marcellus had said, before pausing and looking confused. "Took care of me. My mama died when I was born, and the other mamas didn't want me. They said not to name me, 'case I died too young, but she said she wanted me. And she named me._ _"Your Meena knows Latin?"_ _Marcellus' brow furrowed._ _"I don't know what that means, but Meena's real smart. She works in the Master's house, and she knows how to read. She taught me my letters, and she tells me about stars, and the places people live in I've never seen before."_ _"And you miss her?" he asked then._ _The boy looked guilty._ _"I'm sorry, I didn't-"_ _"No, hey, that's absolutely alright. Meena protected you, just like Klaus wants to protect you. Just like I want to protect you. It's ok to want her to be with you._ _Then the boy surprised him, when his eyes welled up with tears._ _"I don't wanna go back, but Meena needs me!" He said, certain the way only a child knew how._ _Elijah shushed him gently, placing his hands on his shoulders in reassurance._ _"I'm going to find Meena, ok? I promise you that, Marcellus," he said. "And the longer you stay with us, you'll eventually learn that I always keep my promises."_

"What happened?" He asked through grit teeth. He couldn't possibly know what she looked like underneath all the blood, dried and fresh. She hadn't just been whipped but utterly brutalized, bruising and swelling marred her face and arms, discoloring her skin that might have been umber until it was red, purple and in some places, black.

"She was in town when the Master called for her boy to be whipped, and by the time she got back, your brother had got to 'im. She was mad, screaming murder for someone to take her to her Marcellus, and the Master always liked 'er, but he was still sore over the boy.

He ordered her a beating, and then they left her tied to a post outside, cause she tried to fight. Infection started in last night."

Elijah was speechless.

"She hasn't got much longer. I'm sorry sir."

Seemingly a million thoughts raced through Elijah's mind, though he realized there was only two options: allow this girl to die, or change her. And if the labor of her breathing was anything to go by, the later option was a narrowing window of time.

He sighed deeply.

Pinning Sally under his compulsion he directed her to think that Meena had died and to forget he had come here.

He hoped he was doing the right thing as he bit down on his wrist and let his blood drip into the dying girl's mouth.

He was as stone when, mere minutes later, her breathing stopped altogether.

He wrapped Meena's body in a sheet and made his escape, unseen by the other inhabitants of the plantation.

Klaus' eyes were wide when Elijah returned to their home, clearly not expecting this outcome, and watched in silence as he laid the still transitioning girl's body on the bed of a vacant room.

"You turned her?" He asked, slightly awed.

"What you have done for Marcellus is admirable, brother, but a child needs his mother, and she'd be quite dead if I hadn't intervened."

"Yes, I could guess that by the fact most of her blood is currently residing outside her body, but I mean, you turned her, brother. You seemed quite insistent against that."

Elijah frowned.

"I suppose there's always an exception," he allowed, going back down the steps to watch Rebekah and Marcellus flipping through a book of illustrations in the drawing room.

Rebekah glanced up and met his eyes, nodding subtly to show him she'd heard and understood. Marcellus, perhaps thankfully, didn't notice, so engrossed was he in the pictures.

Elijah stood with Rebekah in the suite that would soon be designated as Meena's the next afternoon, waiting for the woman to wake. A servant had cleaned her, replaced her clothing, even brushed her hair. More importantly, her wounds had healed. She could rise any minute.

She looked small, and young, and while Elijah knew he couldn't have let her die, not when even now Marcel ached in her absence, he bitterly regretted allowing her life to be cut so short.

Marcellus was being fitted by their tailor with Klaus, handily distracted from the events upstairs.

Meena could feel the sun on her face first. 'Have they left me outside all night? She wondered, but realized almost immediately that was ridiculous. She was much too comfortable to be kneeling in the dirt like they'd left her.

It was only then that she realized she was lying on her back, and completely without pain, her eyes snapping open in surprise.

Everything came back at once, the beating, the infection, praying silently "Please God, if I'm to die tonight, protect my child," the fever taking her mind until she was a bleeding, babbling mess.

It was a horrible way to die.

And yet now she was here. In a room with a vaulted ceiling, paper decorating the walls.

She rolled over onto her side, hand moving to her face, then her arms, expecting to feel bruises and ruined skin. There wasn't a mark on her, and she frowned in confusion at the ornate ring on one her fingers, brow furrowed as she moved to slide it off her hand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," someone said.

Meena gasped, sitting up properly and clutching at her chest in surprise and wonder.

The speaker was a white man, dressed in fine clothes with long wavy hair and dark eyes. He sat in a chair by the bed she found herself in, looking unbothered by her shock.

Her mind was racing, but it wasn't quite a question that escaped first.

"I died," she said, with surety.

The strange man nodded, his dark eyes never leaving hers. Did he even blink?

He didn't say anything, so she continued.

"I was beaten half dead, and infection did the rest. How can I be here?"

He rested his chin in his hands and looked contemplative for a moment, before saying,

"I am not human. I couldn't allow you to die, therefore I made you like myself."

She probably looked like a wild thing while those words rattled around in her head.

"What are you-" she cut herself off.

"What do you mean you couldn't allow me to die? Who am I to you?"

"For a slave woman, you're very bold," he said, and though the words were cruel he found himself impressed.

A flicker of apprehension crossed her eyes, before she coolly lifted her chin.

"You are no master of mine."

Elijah hid a smile.

"It's not myself you are important to. You see, I recently..." he paused for the right word "adopted a young boy into my family."

Meena's breath caught, fingers clenching the bed sheets.

She clenched her teeth, apparently swallowing whatever her first impulse was and visibly relaxed.

"Is Marcellus alright?" She asked, with admirable calm.

"He's perfectly fine. My brother is getting him fitted for new clothes at the moment."

Just on time, a knock sounded on the other side of the door.

"Come in," Elijah called.

He didn't hide his smirk when one of the Governor's men, stepped just inside the room, not saying anything and simply standing like a soldier at attention.

Meena looked at the man with visible apprehension, then back at Elijah.

"I could tell you wanted to ask earlier, so ask."

Her mouth opened in a silent "oh", but she collected herself quickly.

"What are you? What have you done to me?"

He was surprised by the pure curiosity in her tone.

"My family and I are vampires. We drink the blood of the living, and that ring is enchanted to protect you from sunlight, so I wouldn't remove it if I were you. When I found you last night you were too close to death for me to do anything but give you my blood."

She seemed to be mulling over this, and Elijah couldn't help but find her amusing as she considered his words.

"What now?" She asked quietly.

"You have a choice. This life is not for everyone. You will kill people, the hunger will never truly end. You'll outlive everyone you know, including Marcellus, if he decides to never be turned himself. But you will never be a slave again. If you learn to defend yourself properly, not even other vampires will ever be able to harm you."

Her gaze turned on him, brown eyes wide in something like disbelief, but he wasn't finished.

"To complete the transformation you'll need human blood. If you deny yourself the blood, you will die again."

She looked again at the Governor's hired hand, understanding.

"If I do this, you'll take me to Marcellus?"

"Miss, I'd never wish for you to be separated from him," he said sincerely.

She rose from the bed, sizing up the man before her. He was a good foot taller than her, and much heavier, but he knew vampire strength could match that easily.

"Why isn't he fighting?" She asked, again with her strange curiosity. Elijah noticed her eyes darkening.

"I'm compelling him. He won't make this any harder than it has to be,"

She scoffed just slightly, but stepped closer to the man with a bit less wariness.

Elijah watched, strangely fixated as she, instead of going for the neck as instinct usually dictated, grabbed the man's hand gently, almost like a lover.

She rolled up his sleeve neatly, until his shirt was cuffed above the elbow.

It was only then that she moved with vampiric speed, sinking new fangs into the vein at the base of his wrist.

There was something about the scene that Elijah knew he'd never forget. This girl, woman, with her voluminous coils escaping the knot a servant girl had tied it in, dwarfed by the nightgown Rebecca had donated to her wardrobe was something Elijah hadn't seen before. She was both equal parts vulnerable and powerful; the young, fragile woman and the apex predator.

A minute later she released the man, empty of blood and certainly dead. He fell to the ground with a disappointing thud.

Gold ringed her eyes when they met his again.

"Take me to my son," she said, her tone brokering no argument.

Instead of bristling at the order Elijah smiled slightly.

"Will you permit me to give you proper clothing first?"

She couldn't believe her eyes as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Marcellus, her Marcellus, was in what looked to be the drawing room, seated across from a blonde haired man. He wore an expression of intense concentration as he leaned over the table between them, deliberating over their game of chess. He looked clean, and well rested, his clothing was new, and nicer than anything she'd been able to dress him in before.

It was like a vision out of a dream she'd never had enough hope to acknowledge.

She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt Elijah touching her arm gently, and realized he was watching her with concern.

The blonde man looked up then, and Marcel's attention followed him, until his eyes light up with excitement.

"Meena!" He shouted, as loud as his lungs would allow, and nearly knocked over his chair in his haste to stand up. She was faster than him now though, faster than she even knew yet, and she crossed the foyer in a split second, gathering him up in her arms and hugging him, hopefully not too tightly, though she barely had the presence of mind to be careful. She probably looked a mess, kneeling on the ground to crush her baby to her chest and sobbing almost hysterically.

"I got back to the plantation and you were missing, I was so worried," she half whispered.

Marcel hugged her back almost as tightly, but there was nothing but joy in his eyes.

"I knew you'd come," he murmured into her skin, and she looked down at him in surprise.

"What do you mean, baby?"

"Elijah said he'd find you, and Elijah always keeps his promises," he said simply, with the easy logic of a child.

She couldn't help but raise her head at that, eyes meeting Elijah's. He nodded, seeming to understand the silent thanks, and walked back up the stairs. The blonde man had also vanished at some point, so she was left alone with Marcel, who eagerly bid her to sit, excited to tell her everything he'd experienced.

So on that day, there were two new additions to the Mikaelson house, but no one could've guessed they'd soon become part of the family.


End file.
